How many children do you have?
As a parent who has experienced loss, this seemingly straightforward question cuts deep. It’s akin to asking someone about their hometown or their job, yet it leaves me feeling cold and lost for words each time.
Should I be honest? Should I reveal to a stranger that I have two wonderful children with me, but my third child, Lily, was taken from me far too soon, just three weeks after her birth? Do I say three and risk the discomfort that may follow, or do I choose the simpler answer—two?
I don’t want to discourage you from asking this question; I understand that it comes from a place of genuine curiosity. Three years have passed since I lost my daughter, Lily, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that this question will always bring a twinge of pain. It’s a reminder of my heartache, yet I harbor no resentment. Instead, I am simply filled with profound sadness.
Lily’s loss shattered my world. While I strive to move forward, to find joy and smile like anyone else, beneath this façade lies a heart that is forever broken and in constant ache. So, when you inquire about the number of children I have, I often find myself lost in thought, grappling with how to respond. You may think something is wrong, but in that moment, I’m battling the urge to either spare you the discomfort or honor Lily’s memory.
Perhaps you, too, are dealing with your own grief, and my sharing allows you to open up about your loss. However, this feeling isn’t limited to encounters with strangers. It surfaces in the small moments, like when I fill out forms asking how many children I have or when I discuss the challenges of raising my two daughters. Each time I say “two” instead of “three,” it feels like a tiny piece of my heart breaks anew. The reality remains: I am raising two beautiful girls, not three, and no amount of wishing can change that.
Do I find solace in knowing that Lily’s twin sister, Emma, is thriving? Absolutely. But truthfully, it’s often hard to look at Emma without being reminded of what could have been. I wish I could articulate my thoughts better when asked how many children I have. Yet, in three and a half years, I still haven’t figured out a comfortable way to answer.
I never wanted to be in this position, wishing for three daughters to share my love with, to cuddle on the couch, or to read bedtime stories. I never wanted to have Lily’s urn on my fireplace or her death certificate in a drawer. The mention of her name or the concept of twins can feel like a knife twisting in my heart.
Despite these burdens, I know I must cherish my husband and my two daughters, giving them all the love I can muster. If there’s a purpose to Lily’s passing, it may be to help others navigating similar tragedies. We may not have all the answers, but we are trying—trying to find joy amidst sorrow, trying to keep moving forward.
So, I ask you to be gentle and understanding with grieving parents as they confront the hardest question. Your kindness can make a world of difference in the face of our pain.
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Summary
This article explores the emotional turmoil faced by grieving parents when asked how many children they have. It highlights the struggle between honesty and comfort in these conversations while emphasizing the importance of empathy from others.
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